


It's short, it's simple, it's crystal clear

by asterisms



Series: do all their children burn as well? [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hogwarts Inter-House Rivalries, Hogwarts Inter-House Unity, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inter-House Relations are Complicated, except for when they're not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 06:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17239211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/pseuds/asterisms
Summary: “But what if Professor Snape gets mad?” she asks.“He won’t.”"But... Everyone says he hates you.""What? No way." He has to fight to keep a straight face. She probably wouldn’t appreciate it if he started laughing. She’d probably think he was laughing ather. “Professor Snape adores me.”In which Harry Potter stumbles across a crying first year one night and decides to help.Finding out she's in Slytherin? Not as much of a problem as some might think. In fact, it's not a problem at all.





	It's short, it's simple, it's crystal clear

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a tiny part of this saved in my notes for months now, and apparently it decided that today was the day it was getting written. 
> 
> Also, there's no plot to speak of, but there is a point.
> 
> The references to child abuse/neglect are brief and pretty vague. 
> 
>  
> 
> Finally, the title is from O Children, which hurts me to this day

He finds the girl on a bitterly cold night, curled in on herself and shivering as she does her best to muffle the sound of crying into her silver and green scarf.

Normally, if he found someone wandering the halls after curfew, he’d carefully turn the other way and let them be since, technically (according to the rules and _Hermione_ ), he isn’t supposed to be out either.

But this girl isn’t wandering, she’s crying. Even worse, she’s… small.

“Excuse me,” he says, his voice low and soft, careful not to startle her. 

It mostly works.

She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she goes still. Or tries to, at least. She can’t seem to help the occasional sniffle. Harry can relate. It took him years to learn how to cry quietly enough that he wouldn't annoy his relatives with the sound.

“What?” the girl says, her voice wet with unshed tears and quite a bit of snot.

An ugly crier, then, he notes absently. He grew out of that, too. It only ever made them laugh (Dudley) or watch him with faint disgust, like he was a gross but non-threatening bug just waiting to be swatted at (everyone else).

“Do you need any help?” he asks.

The girl lets out a particularly loud sniffle, and he supposes that’s answer enough.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

When the girl just shrugs at him, Harry moves closer on silent feet and lowers himself to the floor beside her, shivering at the feel of cold stone that seeps through his robes.

“So, what seems to be the problem?”

“Nothing,” she mutters, punctuating the lie with another sniffle. Harry sighs.

It’s up to him to guess, then. Great. At least there aren’t many options, considering how young she must be and how early it is in the year, still.

“Are you lost?”

He didn’t think she could get any smaller, but apparently he was wrong.

“I can help you if you are, you know. I know the castle pretty well.”

“I’m in Slytherin,” the girl says, her voice flat, as if it wasn't obvious by the scarf around her neck. Harry considers all the possible things she might mean with that statement and chooses to address the least prickly one.

“That’s alright,” he says with a careless shrug, “I know where your common room is.”

That shocks her. She doesn’t seem particularly pleased with the information, but she isn’t crying anymore, so he’ll count it as a win.

“What!” She sputters. “But, it’s supposed to be a secret!”

“Yeah, well.” He lets himself grin, full of mischief. “I’ve always been bad at those.”

She stares for a moment longer before another frown takes over.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” she mumbles into her scarf.

“Why’s that?”

“I-” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I forgot the password.”

Oh. That… Is a problem. Even worse, there’s only one easy solution he can think of.

“Well, it’s not yet midnight,” Harry says, hoping she can’t tell how reluctant he is. “I’m sure your head of house is still awake.”

“I don’t know where his office is,” she admits quietly.

Of course. He expected that.

“I do.”

“You mean… You’d go with me?”

Harry bites back a sigh. Honestly, he can’t even be annoyed. He's the one who chose to help instead of walking away. Now he just needs to follow through.

“I will,” he says, smiling to make sure she knows he isn’t upset with her.

“But what if Professor Snape gets mad?” she asks.

“He won’t.”

The girl frowns at him, and it’s a surprisingly effective expression considering it’s on the face of a tiny child. As he looks at her, it’s hard to believe he was ever so small.

Ron, of course, would tell him he still is. But Ron’s an asshole who thinks he's funnier than he actually is, so his opinion doesn’t count.

“But… Everyone says he hates you.”

“What? No way.” He has to fight to keep a straight face. She probably wouldn’t appreciate it if he started laughing. She’d probably think he was laughing at _her_. “Professor Snape adores me.”

Normally, the man’s name would be both lacking the title and accompanied by some carefully selected profanity, but he figures the girl wouldn’t appreciate him insulting her head of house. Take that, Hermione, he thinks as the girl considers his blatant lie. He can totally be respectful when the situation calls for it.

“He yells at you and calls you names,” the girl informs him after a moment of thought, as if he doesn’t already know.

“It’s how he shows affection,” Harry tells her, except. Wait. That’s a horrible lesson to teach a child, isn’t it? He needs to fix this. How does he fix this? “He’s just really- bad… at it. And should. Stop.” He knocks his head back against the wall, hard enough to hurt a little, and if Hermione were here, she’d tell him to stop doing this to himself. Which. He should probably listen. But first, he needs to finish making his point. “Erm. Stop doing that… Because being an as- Er. Jerk. Is… wrong.” The longer he keeps talking, the closer he can feel himself slipping toward the sweet oblivion of death. “…Yeah.”

Great job, Harry, he thinks to himself. Way to educate the youth.

Thankfully, the girl isn’t looking at him, but at where her hands are curled tight around the fabric of her scarf.

“I don’t like it when he yells,” she says quietly, like it’s something to be ashamed of.

And, oh. Now Harry’s ready to murder someone.

“Does he yell at you?” Harry asks carefully, his voice deceptively light.

He doesn’t think he’s skilled enough to kill Snape just yet, but he’ll certainly give it a go if he has to. And if she says yes, well.

“No,” she says, and Harry feels himself relax, just a little. “But sometimes he’ll yell at the Gryffindors during class, and his voice is loud, and it makes me drop things, and-”

“And then your potion gets messed up.”

“Yeah.” She twists the fabric in her hands. “And then he’s mad at _me_ , and so is everyone else.”

“Surely not everyone,” Harry says, but as he says it, he remembers his second year (and his fourth, and _this one_ ) and, okay. It’s definitely not impossible.

“Slytherins are supposed to be good at potions.”

He thinks of some of the concoctions that have been spawned by Goyle and Roper over the years and suppresses a snort.

“Who told you that?” he asks, genuinely curious.

She shrugs.

Alright, then. Apparently it’s time to bring out the hard questions.

“Was it the same people who made you come up here tonight?”

She immediately turns to glare at him, looking profoundly offended.

“No one _made_ me come here,” she says, all but hissing the words. She almost sounds like she believes them. Harry’s a little impressed. When he just keeps watching her, keeping his expression free of judgement or pity, some of the fight drains from her small frame. “I just… Didn’t want to stay there.” The _with them_ is silent, but Harry hears it well enough.

“Have you told anyone you’re being bullied?” he asks, like a complete hypocrite, as if he’s ever told an adult _anything_ in his entire life without the threat of torture or actual death pushing him toward it.

“M’not being _bullied_.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am _not."_  

“Okay.” He raises his hands in surrender. “You really should tell someone, though.”

The girl-

Well. Huh. If he’s gonna help her, he should probably stop referring to her as just _the girl_ in his head.

“What’s your name, anyway?” he asks before she can get even more bristly.

“Acantha Burke,” she says slowly, almost reluctantly, huddling in on herself as if she expects him to attack her over a name. And doesn’t that just paint a wonderful picture of society?  

“Cool name,” is all he says in reply. He decides addressing everything wrong with Wizarding society can come later, once she’s gotten used to him a little and grown a bit less twitchy. “Mine’s Harry Potter.” 

“Yeah.” She looks at him like he’s an idiot. “I _know._ ”

“Alright, well, now we both know each other.”  

He considers pressing the point about telling someone about her problems, but if she hasn’t taken it to heart already, no amount of pestering will change her mind tonight. So, pushing himself to his feet, he moves to stand before her and holds a hand out for her to grab.

“C’mon, then, let’s get you back where you belong.”

Hopefully, in the face of this tiny child from his own house, Snape will be helpful and less, well, _himself_ than usual. Acantha still looks a bit skeptical, but she takes his hand anyway and lets him pull her to her feet. In a move that surprises him, she doesn’t let go once she’s standing.

Instead, she looks up at him, an especially grave expression on her face. He can tell that something serious is about to happen, but he doesn’t know what.

“My parents supported the Dark Lord,” she tells him, and… Huh. He really doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Why would you tell me that?” he asks.

Maybe it’s not the best thing he could have said in reply, but, honestly. What the hell.

“I just thought you should know,” she says with a shrug that's probably supposed to look more nonchalant than it does. She scuffs the toe of her shoe across the stone floor. “And, I don’t know. Maybe you should be more careful.”

“Careful,” he repeats dryly, not sure what else to do.

“I hear people talk, you know.”

“Right.”

“A lot of people in Slytherin don’t like you, but I think you’re okay.”

“High praise,” he says. “I think you’re okay, too.”

Her grip on his hand tightens, and he wonders if her nails are sharp enough to draw blood.

“What if I’m not?” she asks, aggressively not looking at him.

“Well, you’re eleven,” Harry tells her as he begins to shepherd her toward the dungeons and the inevitable confrontation with Snape. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

**Author's Note:**

> I realize this is a bit ooc with regard to speech patterns but, honestly? I had fun writing it so I decided to post it anyway
> 
> Find me on tumblr at asterismsinyoureyes.tumblr.com


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